Crash
When her tears finally subside, I tell her I'm going to get her a drink. I'm shaky on my feet, but praying she's too preoccupied to notice. I go the kitchen and turn on the coffeemaker. It isn't like either of us is going to sleep tonight. And I need something to do that's normal.
When I finally get back into the living room, she's sitting there, calm, but tears still seeping down her cheeks. I put a mug of coffee in front of her before it occurs to me she might not take it the way she used to. "Do you still—"
"Yes, thank you," she murmurs, and doesn't look at me, just picks up the coffee and takes a sip.
I stand there a minute, staring at the wall. But it's like there's something coiling tighter and tighter inside me and if I don't break the tension it's going to break me.
"Crash?" Her voice breaks something in my chest. I look at her and she's staring, her brows pinched together. "Are you okay?."
